


Storytime

by Starswirling



Category: Portal (Video Game)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Love, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 17:59:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 14,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11167104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starswirling/pseuds/Starswirling
Summary: A collection of Chell and Wheatley fluff. Posted in no particular order. Some chapters are G rated, some are M rated.





	1. Hope

**Author's Note:**

> I also have these stories posted on my FanFiction and tumblr account. Most of these are loosely based in the "Sing Nightingale" universe

The sun was just starting to peek through the curtains when little Hope started crying. While not an unexpected behavior from a three month old, it was made worse by the fact that Chell had just finished feeding her less than half an hour ago. As she began to roll out of bed again, a hand rubbed soothingly down her back.

"No, no love," Wheatley said, his voice still a bit rough with sleep. "I'll check on her, you try and get some more shut eye."

Still a bit groggy, Wheatley went down the hall to see what had his daughter so upset.

"What's wrong Darlin'?" He cooed as he lifted her from her crib. He cradled Hope to his chest and started to check her diaper. "You can't be hungry again, you just ate you glutton. Your diaper is all nice and dry. So why all the fuss? Are you lonely? Need a bit of a cuddle?"

He chuckled as he lowered his lanky frame into the nearby upholstered rocking chair and tucked the baby in close. He rocked her slowly.

"I'm afraid that's a bit of your Dad's personality showing through there," he said as he trailed a string of little kisses across the top of her head. "But don't you worry, your Dad always has time to snuggle with you. Your Mum too, but she could really do with some sleep right now, so you've got me."

Calmed by his voice, Hope looked up at her dad with fascination, her sky blue eyes wide with wonder. Wheatley felt a tide of love and affection rise over him as he couldn't keep from nuzzling his little girl. He was still in awe of this amazing tiny person he and Chell had made.

"I really love you, do you know that?" Wheatley said to her. "You and your Mum both….you're the two most important things in the world to me. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you ladies. I mean that. I do."

Settling himself more comfortably into the chair, Wheatley continued his one-sided conversation.

"Did I ever tell you how your Mum and I met? It was like something out of a fairy tale."

Gently patting the baby's back, Wheatley warmed to his story of a princess in an enchanted sleep, a dungeon run by an evil queen and a knight in dented, sparking armor.

"…and then the princess found the knight again. Laying in a field, cold, confused and without his armor. And even though she didn't have to, she took the knight back to her cottage, taught him how to live again and showed him what his real destiny was. And the knight had the opportunity to show her how truly, truly sorry he was for his earlier behavior. And over time, they became true friends, and then they fell in love. So the knight gathered all his courage and asked the princess to marry him. And she said yes! Can you believe it? There are days where I still don't. It was a bloody miracle…..um I forgot I'm not suppose to say "bloody" in front of you….sorry….anyway, so the princess said yes, and they got married, and it was perfect. Then a few years later you came along! The most brilliant princess ever, and your Mum and I have never been happier. The end."

Beaming down at Hope, Wheatley watched as she gave an almighty yawn and then drifted off to sleep. Proud of himself for successfully calming the baby, it took him a moment or two to realize that Chell was leaning against the door frame. Her mouth had a slight smirk, but she was looking at him with affection and tenderness. She hadn't heard him, had she? He didn't think he had been talking that loud. He saw her eyes flick to the top of Hope's dresser. He followed her gaze and that's when he saw it.

The baby monitor.

Crumbs, he had forgotten about it. That meant that Chell had definitely heard every word of his story.

Blushing a little, he looked back at Chell and simply held open his arm, inviting her to come sit with him too. Smiling, Chell crossed the room and cuddled into Wheatley's embrace, her head resting in the crook of his neck as she too gazed at their daughter.

He gave her a gentle squeeze as he kissed her forehead. "I love you," he said softly. She squeezed him back, kissed his neck and said "I love you too." God, she had been speaking for a couple of years now, but hearing her voice still sent shivers down his spine.

Rocking his wife and his daughter, while the sun streamed into the cozy room he and Chell had painstakingly decorated together, Wheatley decided at this moment, there was no one happier on the planet than him.


	2. Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chell is sick, how will Wheatley respond?

Wheatley knows he's terrible in a crisis. He knows he's prone to panic and overreacting. He's wishy-washy when he should be decisive, and decisive about things that shouldn't even be considered an option. He tries not to dwell on it.

But not Chell. Oh no, she's calm in the face of danger, absolute in her actions and she always seems to know the right thing to do. He admires her tremendously for these traits.

He's learning however, the even kick-ass heroines are not always infallible - as the current argument they're having in the flat's kitchen is showing.

"Chell. You have the flu. We both know you have the flu because you showed me those papers the doctor gave you when you went yesterday. Those same papers say you need fluids, rest and to eat. None of which you are doing. Not one! I am capable of tiding up the kitchen and washing dishes. You know I am. You're being ridiculous."

He says all of this from the end of the kitchen, his arms folded, face scowling trying to impress on her the gravity of the situation.

"So seriously, put the dish down and go to bed! Or at least go sit at the table and have some tea."

Chell, pale and shivering, turns from her place at the sink to scowl back at him. She'll do whatever she pleases, thank you very much, but the effect is ruined when her vision grays out and her knees refuse to hold her weight anymore.

From what seem seems like the end of a long hallway, she hears Wheatley cry out "Chell!"

Less than 30 seconds later, when she's able to focus properly, she finds herself in Wheatley's arms, being clasped against his chest as he determinedly carries her to her room. While she's surprised at her location, she's not surprised to hear her savior muttering angrily.

"Okay. That's it. Enough is enough. Of all the stubborn...mule-headed...man alive lady!" Wheatley uses his foot to push open her bedroom door from where it rests against the jamb. Balancing her against him with one arm, he quickly yanks back her bed-covers and stacks her pillows against the headboard. He gingerly lowers her the bed so she's sitting against the pillows before pulling the covers back up and tucking them around her hips. Bracing his hands on the headboard on either side of her, Wheatley leans down, effectively caging her in.

"Right. So here's what's going to happen. Unless you want me to drag you to the hospital, you're to stay in bed. I will bring you some food and some hot tea, which you'll eat all of, and then you're going to stay here and rest."

Chell is impressed. There's not a single waver or stutter to Wheatley's voice. His jaw is set and he means what he says. But before she can start to worry if "corrupted Wheatley" is back, she sees the vulnerability and concern creep into his gaze. "Please? Please Love," he asks softly.

Wearily, Chell nods. She hates to admit it, but that bout of lightheaded-ness scared her. (She refuses to use the word "fainted", even in her own mind).

"Alright then. I'm going to back in a few minutes," Wheatley says, seemingly dazed by his own bravado and heads for the kitchen.

Chell can hear him puttering around in there, and true to his word, he appears in her room five minutes later. He's carrying a tray that contains two pieces of buttered toast, an orange, a mug of hot tea and the paperback novel she's been reading. He carefully sets it on her lap.

"I'm going to come check on you in half an hour, and I better find that you've eaten all that food, Miss Stubborn," Wheatley says, but he says with it affection, like when he calls her "Love."

Chell gives a small smile and nods, and Wheatley leaves her to get started.

When he comes back, he sees the tray on her nightstand, the plate empty except for an orange peel and the mug drained. Chell is slumped down in the bed, asleep with her book face down on her chest.

If she were awake to see it, Chell's breath would catch to see the look of protectiveness that's on Wheatley's face right now. After he takes a moment to just look at her, Wheatley picks up her paperback, careful to mark her spot with her bookmark, before squeezing it on the nightstand. He arranges the covers so they're more securely around her shoulders and allows himself the indulgence of running a palm down her blanket covered arm before he heads back out with the tray. He turns off the light and closes the door as he goes.

As he loads the dishwasher and moves on to wiping down the counters Wheatley thinks about what happened earlier. He can't believe he acted that way. It wasn't that he hadn't been scared. He had been terrified. Bloody hell, he's still scared. But at the time, that feeling had been blotted out by the need to catch her and take care of her. He's still feeling the need to take care of her and keep her safe.

Wheatley's pretty sure if this had happened a few months ago, he would have just worked himself into a catatonic panic, or would have actively made things much worse. Maybe he's getting better at this whole "being human business" Wheatley muses to himself. Or maybe he's just found something….or someone he really cares about and is important to him?

That thought makes his heart race, and as he dumps the crumbs he's swept off the counter into the trash, he decides he's done thinking about it for the day and ambles to the den to watch some telly. He keeps the volume low enough though that he can hear any noises Chell might make from her room to get his attention.

When Chell wakes several hours later, she has to admit to herself that she does feel a lot better. She wonders how Wheatley fared while she's been napping. She hopes that he hasn't been stressing too much.

The low sound of the television leads her into the den, where she finds him stretched out the length of the couch, his head lolled back against the arm, his mouth open with gentle snores. Amused, she just shakes her head at him. At least it seems like he didn't worry too much.

Chell starts to untangle the afghan he's managed knot around his body when he wakes with a small start. "Hey, what are you doing out of – oh! You look a lot better Love."

Sitting up, he lightly pulls her down next to him by her arms so he can get a better look at her. His spindly fingers support her chin as he tips her head this way and that to check her color.

"Just because you're on the mend doesn't mean you can overdo it now," he scolds her, still holding on to her face. "I'd hate to have to get tough with you again lady."

Chell rolls her eyes and gives a mocking salute. Wheatley opens his mouth to protest her abuse of sarcasm when she suddenly grabs his hand that's under her face, threads her fingers through his and kisses the tip of his nose. Instantly Wheatley's entire demeanor gentles. "You scared me," he murmurs, as his thumb strokes right below her knuckles. "I….I don't like it when you're not feeling well. I don't,…I don't want anything bad to happen to you."

He looks almost guilty about his admission, like he's crossed a line he feels he doesn't have any business being near. Chell feels a warm tingle zap down her spine. She never though this gangling idiot would be anything more than just a responsibility to her. Someone to look after because she had to. She was wrong. Somewhere along the line they had become friends. Friends on the edge of something else. Something…meaningful.

Before she can think too much more about it, Chell throws her arms around his shoulders and gives him a good squeeze while she kisses him on the cheek. She hopes he understands it's her way of saying "sorry I scared you and you did a great job taking care of me." She thinks from the way he sighs and burrows into her that he gets her message.

He finally eases back after a minute and rubs her arms. "How 'bout I get you a glass of water and we watch some of those black and white movies you like so much until you get sleepy again? I can throw together some sandwiches for us as well. What do you think? Sound good?"

Happily, Chell nods. As she watches him shuffle back to the kitchen, she decides she'll ponder out what's happening between them when she's back on her feet. For now she's going to enjoy something for the first time – the luxury of having a good friend take care of her.


	3. Early Bedtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slightly smutty story

Ever since Chell and Wheatley started making love on a regular basis and had decided to share a bedroom, Wheatley had been pushing for earlier and earlier bedtimes. He loved the new direction their relationship had taken – and admittedly the California King mattress Chell had purchased as a surprise for him. He relished that he could lay in almost any position without some part of his body hanging off the side.

But really, Chell thought as she finished putting away a load of freshly washed towels, this was getting out of hand. It was just 7 o'clock! Wheatley had disappeared as soon as they had finished cleaning up dinner, and she had a pretty good idea where he went to.

This needed to stop. There were still chores that had to be done. So she kept him waiting, hoping he would sulkily reappear and she should give him a piece of her mind. But he never did.

An hour and a half later, when Chell decided she had made him wait long enough, she pushed open their bedroom door.

There he was – reclining naked on his side, the sheet draped across his hips, and his bent arm propping up his head, his eyebrows waggling and the biggest, most enthusiastic grin on his face.

"Hello Love," he crooned in what he thought was a seductive voice as he gestured for her to join him. It made Chell roll her eyes, but it also made a small shiver go down her back. "You seem to have a problem of having on entirely too many clothes. Why don't you come over here and I'll help you with that?"

Chell couldn't stop her own smile that grew on her face, and knew even as she walked towards the bed, that she should probably resist, and let him know how ridiculous he was being and that she was mad at him, god damn it.

It never ended well when Wheatley got a big ego about anything. But honestly she was hesitant to break this confident high was he riding. So many things that he tried blew up in his face (both metaphorically and literally) she didn't want to take this significant one away from him. Besides, he had every right to be smug. He was good at this – really, really, surprisingly fantastic at it. Chell wasn't sure what she basing her knowledge of intimacy on, but making love with Wheatley kept her beyond satisfied – both emotionally and physically.

Still she would tell him tonight that this whole "jumping into bed directly after dinner" routine had to stop, she decided as she climbed onto the mattress.

Then again, she thought, as Wheatley rolled her underneath him and began to ardently kiss her neck, and whispered how much he loved her, how good she felt, while he tugged and pulled her clothes off… waiting one more night….or three wouldn't hurt.


	4. One, four, three

One, four, three.

It seemed like an innocuous rhythm, but whenever Chell used her fingers to tap out the pattern, it made Wheatley's whole day brighter. One, four, three - was how Chell said "I love you", and she told him all the time.

She'd tap it on his spine in the late hours of the night when they were curled in bed together. She'd tap it on his forearms when they snuggled on the couch. She would flutter it on his shoulder when she passed him in the kitchen. She drummed it on his hips when they showered together (and occasionally on his bum which always made him blush). She tapped it on his knuckles when they held hands walking down the street. She tapped it on the base of his skull whenever she kissed him.

But the best, the very best was when they would finish making love, and Chell would be snug in his arms, warm and sated - she would tap it directly over Wheatley's heart.

One, four, three. To others it might not seem like much, but to Wheatley those eight touches made his whole world right.


	5. Calming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wheatley is restless and Chell helps.

Chell sighs and closes her book as she watches Wheatley get up and pace around the couch for the twelfth time that hour.

She doubts he's ever been one to just command a space. And while she suspects he's always been a high-strung individual, she has to admit that going from human to robot back to human has probably not helped him calm down any. His normal tics aren't too bad - drumming his fingers or bouncing a leg when he's sitting. Shifting his weight from foot to foot when he stands. But this is something else.

It happens occasionally, days where he just can't settle. She doesn't know if it's him poorly handling the onslaught of being human again, or if it's some kind of delayed stress reaction from his time at Aperture, but she does know that as the evening goes on, Wheatley will continue to pace frantically, sitting down for ten seconds before springing up again, his hands in constant motion until he either flings himself on his bed - where he'll just toss and turn all night and be irritable the whole next day or he'll go stand under the shower for a couple hours hoping the noise will block out the sounds of his frustrated crying.

Time to try something new, Chell decides.

Nimbly stepping around Wheatley as he makes another circuit around the couch, she strides to the bathroom and returns with her hairbrush. Grabbing his arm as he makes another pass, Chell guides him back to a sitting position on the couch, throwing a pillow in front of his feet. Wheatley looks at her, stunned, as she drops onto the pillow, pulls her hair free of its ponytail, and leans her side against his legs, effectively pinning him. She pushes the brush into his hands and then points to her hair.

"I'm sorry...Are...are you asking me to brush your hair?" Wheatley says quizzically. The look of confusion on his face only intensifies when she nods her head yes. "But why? You've never asked me to do that before. You definitely don't need my help. I've seen you brush your hair on your own loads of times."

Chell sighs, wishing for the millionth time that she could speak. She wishes she could explain that this would help him direct his energy and settle his mind since the TV show he's been trying to watch for the last hour obliviously isn't doing it. But she can't, and no amount of hand gestures will convey that, so she just wraps his hand around the brush and insistently points to her hair again. Seeing he's still not swayed, Chell looks at him imploringly and mouths "Please."

"Alright Love, alright. If you insist. I still think you're being barking mad," Wheatley says with a huff. Chell smiles and begins to face towards the TV. "Wait though, there's no way that can be comfortable, leaning against my knees. Here let's try this," he says, shifting his legs so they're on either side of her while putting another pillow between her back and the front of the couch. His hand on her shoulder helps ease her into position. Satisfied that she's comfy now, he spreads her hair across his lap with one hand while the other picks up the brush. His long fingers card through her locks, looking for knots that he works out delicately with the brush. "Let me know if I pull too hard. I'm trying not to hurt you." Chell nods and reaches behind her to give his calf a reassuring squeeze.

Reasonably sure that he's gotten all the snags, Wheatley starts to work the brush through her hair in long, slow strokes. Holding each section in his hand, he works from the left side of her head to the right, running the brush through each part a couple times before moving to the next.

Wheatley loves her hair. He loves how it smells, how silky it feels in his hands. He loves the color - not black, but not brown either. It's a gorgeous mix of the two. As he starts brushing the underside of her hair as he's seen her do, he tries to decide what he would call her exact shade. Walnut? Dark chocolate? Mink?...Was mink a color or just an animal? Wheatley isn't sure. None of those colors really do justice to her hair anyways, and he decides it should just be called "Chell." Of course he would say the same thing about the blue-gray color of her eyes, or her creamy almond skin. Everything about her was just so unique.

While Wheatley is caught up in his inner debate, Chell can feel him starting to calm down. The tremors in his legs stop, his breathing evens out, his hands remain steadfast in her hair. Chell's glad her idea is working, and she has to admit, it feels pretty good on her end too. Maybe she'll make this a nightly ritual.

With a last gentle tug, Wheatley puts the brush down and runs his palms over her hair, smoothing it. "I think that does it Love. How….how was that? Was that what you wanted?"

She turns and gives him a smile. Wheatley can't help but smile back as he offers his hand to help her off the floor.

Now it's time for the second part of Chell's plan. Once she's on her feet, she holds up a finger, asking him to wait, while she walks to the bookcase.

"What are you doing now Love? You already have a book right here and I know you're not done with it, your bookmark is in the middle."

Chell makes no effort to reply, until she's sitting next to him on the couch once again, settling herself against his side and turning off the TV.

Wheatley looks at the book she's handed him "The Princess Bride? I've been meaning to give this one a go, but I'm not really in the mood to read right now honestly." Chell sighs and taps the book, then Wheatley's chest and then gestures that she wants him to talk.

"You…..you want me to read this out loud? To you?" Wheatley is thoroughly stumped, but Chell just beams at him. "What is with you tonight and wanting me to do things for you that you typically do for yourself? Are you feeling okay?"

Wheatley tries to feel her forehead, concerned he'll find her raging with a fever, but Chell just bats his hand away and taps the book again resolutely.

"Just for a few pages, alright? And then you're going to bed, you're obviously not feeling well and it's making you act slightly mental. Not in a really bad way! I didn't mean it like that…j-just, a little batty is all. Um, I'll just read, shall I?" Wheatley says hastily, catching the look on Chell's face over his last comment.

Clearing his throat, Wheatley holds the book in front of him and begins to read, only to stumble on the first word as Chell ducks under his arm and snuggles against him, resting her head on his chest.

She's read this book several times already, so Chell closes her eyes and focuses instead on the rise and fall of Wheatley's voice, how it rumbles through his body under her ear, smirking now and then as he adds his own commentary to the narrative. She loves how his Bristol accent shapes the words, and how in-between page turns, his hand had drifted down to stroke her arm without him really noticing.

Warm and content, she starts to drift off, and within ten minutes she's asleep. Wheatley, however, entertained by the story and soothed by the feeling of Chell snuggled against him, doesn't notice she's sleeping until he finishes chapter five.

Chuckling softly, he puts the book aside, and lays his head back against the cushion. He's feeling a little sleepy himself. He knows he should wake her and send her off to her bed before falling into his own, and he will, in just a minute. He just wants to shut his eyes and rest here with her for just a minute and then he'll get up.

Neither wakes until morning.


	6. Origami

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chell discovers origami

Chell smiled as she watched Wheatley flit around the public library like a kid in a candy store.

Wheatley loved the library. All these different books on all sorts of subjects? That he could just borrow for free? Amazing, bloody amazing, in his opinion.

On this trip, Wheatley ended up with five books; a history of England, two young adult steampunk novels, a fictionalized story about Bach and one interesting looking novel called "Eat, Pray, Love." He had wanted to take home a guide on how to repair your own home plumbing, but Chell had made him put that one back.

As they waited for their turn to check out, the cover of a book caught Chell's eye. It was all about origami. Intrigued, Chell lifted it from its stand and began to flip through the pages. It detailed the history and philosophy behind the art form and even had instructions on how to make some of the figures.

"Did you find something you like Love?" Wheatley asked, when he noticed that she had yet to put the book back. "Just bang it up on top of the pile I've got here and we'll get it for you."

Once they had checked out Chell made a quick stop in the library's tiny shop for some origami paper before they headed home.

In the following week, Chell read the book cover to cover. She found everything about the art form fascinating. It was especially soothing to her to make the figures, and where as she was quite proficient at creating all the different types, the one she enjoyed the most was the frog. She liked that they were known for safe journeys and returns. She also thought they were just cute overall. She had quickly memorized how to make them, and even after the book was returned she continued to create them.

When she still had the book, Chell had invited Wheatley to try his hand at making a few, and while he had been absolutely delighted that she wanted to share her interest with him, all of his figures ended up looking like they had been involved in unfortunate car accidents, so he soon gave up. However, he adored what Chell made, marveling at the perfect folds and clean lines. She was bloody clever and he made sure to tell her so.

Her sculptures gave him such joy that Chell began to leave them for him anytime she had to go to work before he got out of bed.

Wheatley found a pair of frogs sitting on his shoes next to the door one morning. Once he opened the cabinet and was greeted by a frog perilously perched in the handle of his favorite mug. He had one guard his toothbrush on the bathroom counter. He'd seen a trio grouped like they were having a serious discussion on the top of his paperback. He got quite the start once when he rolled over to look for his glasses in the morning and found a rather large frog balanced on the nose bridge.

In all sizes and colors, Chell created a kaleidoscope of frogs for him.

He couldn't help but beam at each one he found. He knew it was Chell's way of saying "I love you. Stay safe until we're back together again."

What Chell hadn't realized was how much Wheatley treasured her frogs until she went to put his eyeglass case away in the drawer of his bedside table and was shocked to find it filled to the brim with the paper figurines.

Incredulous she turned to him for an explanation.

"Of course I kept them!" Wheatley said, having correctly interpreted her look. "You made them….you made them just for me," he finished softly and gently stroked one with a willowy finger.

He looked so sweetly bashful Chell had been unable to stop herself from cupping the back of his head and coaxing him down for a kiss. The next day she brought home a huge clear plastic bowl and helped Wheatley transfer his horde, placing it on top of the bookcase, so he could enjoy seeing his frogs throughout the day.

Chell was glad the frogs brought him so much pleasure. For all his devotion to her, she worried sometimes that she was the wrong choice for Wheatley in the long run. She was a pretty closed off person, and she had never been and would never be one for over-the-top gestures. And Wheatley...Wheatley tended to favor the grandiose.

He said he was happy now, but what about in five years? In ten? She loved him and wanted the best for him, so maybe she should accept that it wasn't going to be her.

That thought had gnawed at her for a full week before she finally just came out and asked him. She wrote it all out for him, clearly and concisely, and handed him the notebook page. She chewed on her lower lip while she had waited for him to read it and tried to prepare herself for when he agreed. She was strong, she was self-reliant. She could handle this.

She was so wrong.

When Wheatley finally looked up from the page, his face was full of sympathy and concern. "Oh Love," he said, sighing deeply. "You've made me realize...that you ARE actually brain damaged. What the bloody hell lady?!" He continued, his voice raising at her confused expression. "You think you're not good enough for me? In what flipping parallel universe would that ever be true?"

Chell could only stare at him as he reached out for her and slowly but surely drew her onto his lap and nestled her close. His fingers skated down her back and arms in soothing strokes.

"I love you for who you are, not despite of it. I'm glad you're more reserved. I think it balances us out, honestly. Keeps us centered. And I know you love me. You tell me all the time, I don't care if no one else hears it or sees it. And you show me all the time too! You make frogs for me. You buy me the molasses biscuits I really like even though I know you hate molasses. You rub my back when I have nightmares. You hold my hand when we walk together. Oh god, you do that thing with your tongue when you...mmmrph."

Chell had covered his mouth with her hand. He had made his point. She had been colossally stupid. She could feel Wheatley smiling against her hand, and he gave her palm a quick kiss before she let him peel it away and hold it between his own.

"I love you and I want to be with you. Today, tomorrow and every day after. I don't want you to ever doubt that, yeah?" Chell nodded and tapped her other hand over his heart. "I know you feel the same too, Love," Wheatley said and kissed her forehead. "Now with that foolishness out of the way, any chance of lunch?"

Chell rolled her eyes, but gave him a grin and a hug before getting off his lap to start searching the fridge.

He was dork, but she loved him. She was glad they had made their way back to each other.


	7. Chell's fault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wheatley blames Chell

It was all Chell's fault.

He had a plan. A timeline. Goals.

And now they were ruined... and it was all her fault

It was Friday night and he had made dinner reservations at a nice restaurant for them, to show he could be a proper boyfriend.

He had it all worked out. He would get home, clean up his mess from breakfast while he waited for Chell to arrive, she would come home, he would greet her, they would both change and then be out the door well on time to make their reservation.

He had just finished loading the dishwasher when Chell came in. He met her at the door as she was kicking off her shoes and leaned down to kiss her.

It started out as a simple, quick kiss. Just a nice "welcome home" between boyfriend and girlfriend.

But then she had pressed herself against him and, seemingly of their own accord, his hands dropped to cup her arse, encouraging her to continue.

And then her hands where in his hair and she knew what that did to him.

There was no other way to describe it, their kiss turned hungry. Suddenly it wasn't enough to feel the heat of her body through their clothes. He needed as much of her naked flesh as possible against his. From Chell's frantic attack on his belt buckle he knew she felt the same.

They missed their dinner reservation.

In fact, they almost missed the couch.

Now late in the evening, they were lounging intertwined on the cushions – Wheatley in only his boxers and Chell in just his shirt, the grey one with faded Union Jack on the front - polishing off a frozen home pizza and watching a movie.

His original date night plans had been destroyed and really it was her fault. But as Chell nuzzled against him, he was glad they were ruined. Not even the most expensive meal in the fanciest restaurant in the world could have compared to the evening they had.

Nope, Wheatley thought as he snuggled closer to Chell. This had been perfection.


	8. Crying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone posted a prompt that Wheatley hates it when Chell cries. Here's the story I came up with in response.

Wheatley comes home to a silent house. He's immediately concerned because Chell is supposed to be here, and while she's not a loud person he can usually tell what room she's in.

"Chell?" He calls. He thinks he hears a muffled noise coming from upstairs. Nerves jumping, he climbs the stairs rapidly.

"Chell? Are you alright?" He calls again as he pushes their bedroom door open. And then he sees her, curled in a ball on their bed, crying softly.

His heart breaks.

In a flash, he's on the bed too, pulling her into his arms where he cradles her against his chest.

"Sweetheart, darling, what's wrong?" He croons, rocking her slightly. Chell wraps her arms around him and squeezes and only cries harder.

"Whatever it is, we'll face it together, I promise," he says fervently.

Ten minutes of rocking and rubbing her back, she finally calms down enough to tell him what's wrong - one of her friends have passed away unexpectedly.

Pulling her down to snuggle on the bed, Wheatley tells her how sorry he is, and he'll do whatever she needs to feel better.

"You've already made me feel better," Chell says holding him tighter. "Thank you."

"Always, luv, always," Wheatley promises.

Chell believes him.


	9. Taking care of Chell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wheatley tries to take care of Chell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one starts off fluffy but ends in pure smut.

Now that she had found her voice, life was better for Chell. Better, but not always perfect. She still had nightmares and panic attacks some days. Days where she was hyper-sensitive and her heart raced and she jumped at every little sound.

To help combat that, Chell had taken up meditation. Forcing herself to sit still and really focus on her body, her breathing, always calmed her down and helped center her.

It was mid-Saturday afternoon when Chell rolled out her meditation yoga mat in a patch of sunlight on the den floor and was just getting ready to move into position when Wheatley appeared, holding one of the big comfy decorative pillows from the couch and a fleece blanket. She raised her eyebrow in question at him.

"I…I did some reading on meditation and it said that a comfortable surface is better and it's still winter out and you get so cold not moving I thought you should have this blanket. And oh! Also! I downloaded this app on my phone. It has all sorts of soothing sounds, like rainfall and waves. It's supposed to help you focus and I thought you might like it," he said as he put the pillow down on her mat and swept the blanket around her shoulders like a cape. He fumbled for his phone in his pocket, pulling up the white noise app and showing her. He pressed the phone into her hand and leaned down to kiss the top of her head.

"I wanted to help make you feel better. Now I'll just take my book and go read in my bedroom. Get out of your hair so you can concentrate," he said cheerfully, sweeping his book up from the coffee table and heading back towards the hall.

An hour later, Chell slipped past the half-opened door to his room and found Wheatley stretched out on his bed, one arm tucked behind his head as he read. He looked up at her with an easy smile.

"How was your session? Feeling better?" He asked.

Chell gave him a smile in return. "It was good, you really helped. Thank you," she said as she crossed the room and climbed onto the bed. She stretched out beside him, pillowing her head on his shoulder and twining her legs with his.

"You don't have to thank me love," Wheatley said softly as he wrapped his arm around Chell, snuggling her even closer. "I just want to help."

Chell gave him a quick peck on the lips before laying her head on his shoulder again. "It was very helpful, and very sweet, so thanks again," she kissed him once more to silence his protest. "Tell me about your book. Is it any good?"

Wheatley recognized that she was changing the subject to keep him from arguing, but with her in his arms he found he didn't really care and began to tell her all about the mystery novel he was reading instead.

One month later…

Chell woke up very late on her day off. She was normally an early riser, but nightmares had plagued her all week, last night included, and she had only managed to finally nod off in the small hours that morning. Now it was Noon and she was annoyed that she had wasted half of the day.

She was standing in front of the open fridge trying to decide what she wanted to eat when she heard the front door open.

She poked her head around the fridge door and saw Wheatley let himself in, carrying a small brown paper bag. She watched him light up at the sight of her. They had been dating for six months now and he still looked at her as if she was some amazing treasure. Even now – when she knew she had big purple bags under her eyes and her hair was like a rat's nest, he smiled as if she was the most beautiful women he'd ever seen.

She felt some of her bad mood drain away.

"Hi," she said as she pulled out left-overs from last night's dinner. Chicken and rice would do fine for her breakfast/lunch. "What are you doing home from work so early?"

"I'm not staying. Just thought I would pop home during my lunch break and check on you. I know you've had a rough go of it lately. Annnnnnnnnnnd I wanted to bring you this!" Wheatley exclaimed, holding out the paper bag to her.

Curious, Chell set down her plate of food and took the bag from him. She pulled out a journal covered in soft lilac suede. Surprised, she looked at the lanky brunette.

"What's this for?" she asked.

"I got that for you on my way to work this morning. I thought it might help you clear your mind, as it were. Like your mediation! I was thinking that maybe you could write down your thoughts, or worries, or your bad dreams and maybe it would help you work through some of them," Wheatley said, as he brushed some of her hair behind her ear. "Do you like it?" he asked, sounding hesitant for the first time.

"I love it, what a great idea Wheatley," Chell said, reaching up on her tip-toes to kiss him. Wheatley positively beamed at her as he wound his arms around her.

"Do you have time to stay and eat lunch with me? There's enough left-overs for us both," she asked hopefully.

"I should have just enough time yeah," he said, giving her a hug before letting her go. "I'll get our drinks while you're getting the food."

As Chell set her new journal down on the counter, she gave the soft binding one last stroke and felt the rest of her bad mood slip away.

Two months later…..

"God damn it!" Chell yelled, as she stood in the kitchen, splattered with sour cream.

Its official, she thought to herself, today sucked.

Her bus had been late this morning, clients had been rude at work, she had broken a heel on her shoe on the way home and now to top it off, she had just dropped a full container of sour cream, sans lid, in just the right way that the contents had splattered her, the floor, the fridge and half the cabinets.

Wheatley had dashed to the kitchen having heard her expletive. One look at the mess and the frustrated expression on Chell's face had him waving her out of the room.

"Why don't you go have a bath while I clean this up" he said, grabbing the sponge. "Off you go, I have this totally under control."

Usually she'd stay and help, but the thought of a steamy bath was too great of a temptation. She thanked him and headed to the bathroom.

Shucking her stained clothes off and stuffing them into the hamper, Chell knelt to retrieve her bath pillow from under the sink and found a bottle of very nice lavender bubble bath and a note with Wheatley's sloping handwriting.

"I found this bubble bath at the store and thought you might like it. I've read that lavender is very soothing. Love Wheatley"

Chell was surprised. Typically Wheatley couldn't keep a thought to himself, much less keep a present a secret. She unscrewed the cap and sniffed – it smelled wonderful.

Smiling, Chell started the water and tipped in some of her new bubble bath.

After fifteen minutes there was a soft knock on the door. "You can come in Wheatley" she called. The man in question shyly slouched into the room. He was carrying the latest book she was reading and a glass of white wine.

"I thought these might also help you relax. Sorry I didn't think of it until you were already in the water. Didn't mean to barge in and ruin the mood." He said as he placed the book and glass on the side of the tub. Chell reached up and caught his hand, giving it a squeeze before placing a small kiss on his knuckles.

"You're not ruining anything, this is perfect. Thank you for the bubble bath too, I really like it."

Wheatley smiled and squeezed back. "I'm chuffed that you like it. I'm just going to head to bed. Have a nice bath love."

An hour later, Chell was about to put on her pajamas when a thought came to her. Smiling devilishly she left the garments on the hook and headed for their bedroom.

Wheatley was already asleep, snoring ever so slightly, his back to the door. He woke though as Chell slid under the covers and snuggled against him.

"Did you have a pleasant bath love?" He asked as he rolled over and started to reach for her.

"I did, thank you," Chell replied as she wiggled into his embrace.

"Oh good," he said as his hands started to stroke down her back, like he always did when they were in bed, she could tell he was surprised when this time they met her bare skin. "You're awfully naked here lady, why are you naked?"

"Well my bath was great, but you know what would really help me feel better?" Chell whispered sweetly.

"What?" asked Wheatley breathlessly as he pulled her even closer.

"Making love with my very thoughtful boyfriend," she said, causing Wheatley to shiver in response.

"Well, I mean if it'll make you feel better, I guess I could help with that," he tried to say with a straight face but he couldn't keep his smile from breaking through.

Chell giggled and kissed him. Wheatley moaned, his hands wandering all over her body as she moved to nip at his ear. His moans got louder as she kissed her way down his neck, teeth scraping his collar bone that showed above the neckline of his shirt.

Wrenching away from her, Wheatley made quick work of his pajamas, throwing them heedlessly on the floor before pulling Chell back against him. He gave another enthusiastic moan when his naked flesh finally met hers. His hand dipped to stroke and tease her, and Chell rewarded him with gasps and whispered encouragements.

She continued to kiss the length of his neck, sometimes detouring back up to his mouth, driving him crazy by sucking on his bottom lip. Just as she was on the cusp of begging him to let her ride him, Wheatley gasped, "Oh please love, can I? Please, I want you so bad."

"I want you too Wheatley," she murmured in his ear and he pressed her against him in desperate want. Shifting so he was above her, Wheatley slowly entered her. Chell knew his relaxed speed was half an attempt to prolong the pleasure, and other half caution. Wheatley was constantly afraid he was going to hurt her when he was on top and was always careful. Chell thought it was an endearing trait. She tightened her arms around his shoulders, holding him close as she coaxed him on by rolling her hips.

Wheatley took the hint and alternated between slow grinds and fast, deep thrusts. Chell cinched her legs around his waist, squeezing him with each stroke.

His face buried firmly in the crook of her neck, his lips on her skin, Chell could feel him uttering her name over and over in between the kisses and bites he peppered on the column of her throat.

All the while, his hands never stopped moving – caressing, petting, teasing her until she was right on the edge. Feeling how close she was, Wheatley wormed an arm under her shoulders and grabbed her ass with his other hand, clutching her against him as he thrust harder. It was like a dam breaking inside of her, and Chell called his name as the tidal wave of her orgasm overtook her.

Hearing her pleasure and feeling her body lock tight around his own pushed Wheatley over his edge. He tried to say her name once more, but could only manage a strangled moan as he came.

When they both finally had their breathing back under control, Chell kissed him. Wheatley hummed happily against her lips as he rolled them both on their sides, and tangled his long limbs with hers.

"That was exactly how I wanted to end this day," Chell whispered, as Wheatley idly traced shapes on her back. "You always make me feel better."

"I'm so glad love," Wheatley whispered back. "I have to admit, and I'm being honest here. I was worried when we started…this… that it was going to be like the testing euphoria. That nothing would ever match that glorious first time. But every time is the best. Not that each time is exactly the same, mind you, but there's always something that sets each one apart….the way we kissed, or how you held me…that makes that particular time the absolute best."

He grinned sheepishly at her. "Sorry it probably sounds like I'm talking a load of bollocks here."

"No," Chell said, pushing him on his back and straddling him. She leaned down until her hair curtained his face and she cradled his jaws in her hands. "It sounds like poetry. It feels like that for me too, and it's one of the many reasons why I love you."

"Yeah?" he asked, in wonder

"Absolutely," Chell said as she kissed him.

"Well just in case you didn't already know," Wheatley said stealing one more kiss, "I utterly adore you….I love you so much for so many reasons, I feel like I don't do the best job telling you that."

"You show me all the time Wheatley," Chell said, her face serious. "Every time you do something kind and thoughtful for me, you let me know."

He smiled at her and Chell couldn't stop herself from giving him one big hug before she slid off him and turned so they were spooned together. Wheatley sighed contently and nuzzled the top of her head. Chell snuggled back against him and both of them fell asleep feeling happy and loved.


	10. Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was my submission for the 2017 Portal Secret Santa exchange.

It was the first week of December and Wheatley was determined to get the perfect gift for Chell for Christmas. He just had no idea what it was.

“Well no matter,” he thought to himself. “I’ll just watch her closely, see what she likes and then I’ll know what to get her!” Cheered by his brilliant plan, Wheatley threw himself into holiday activities with Chell and their friends.

They went sledding with Rick and Spacey. They sung carols with Doug and Glados. Wheatley’s amazing tenor more than made up for the fact that Chell’s voice couldn’t be heard unless you were standing right next to her. They decorated delicious cookies Chell made, just the two of them.

Still none of their winter fun produced an idea for an amazing present. They were just a week away from Christmas and Wheatley was starting to panic. He had to get her the perfect present. Not just any old thing. he was trying to prove that he really had changed, and cared about others. Especially Chell, he loved her after all, and while he told her that all the time, he wanted to show her too.

It wasn’t until they were visiting another friend and Wheatley saw Chell looking wistfully at their framed photos that he knew what to do.

As soon as they were home, Wheatley called their friends, and after giving Chell a kiss on the forehead, he left in a scrabble of long limbs. He returned long after Chell had gone to bed.

Christmas morning found Wheatley leading a giggling Chell out to their living room, his big hands covering her eyes.

“Wheatley, I told you didn’t have to do anything special for me,” Chell said, trying to bat his hands away.

“Ah ah ah! No ruining your surprise!” He said, keeping his hands firmly in place. “And of course I got you something! I only wish I could get you more. You deserve everything love.”

Chell suddenly whirled in his arms and wound her arms around his neck and pulled Wheatley down for a kiss that was so passionate, he was surprised his glasses hadn’t fogged.

He hugged her a little bit closer as he glanced up, trying to gather his senses.

“H-how did you know there was mistletoe there?"Wheatley asked shakily, nodding his head towards the small sprig that was hanging above their heads in the doorway.

"I didn’t,” Chell replied with a grin. “I just really wanted to kiss you.”

“Oh!” Wheatley said, and he looked so surprised, Chell couldn’t help but steal one more kiss.

“You little minx,” Wheatley growled, unable to stop his own smile. “Stop trying to distract me from giving your gift!” He gently spun her around so she should finally see her present. At her soft gasp, he knew she saw it - the dozen new picture frames.

In wonder, Chell crossed the room to look at them all, lifting one from the shelf. Photos of her, Wheatley and their friends grinned back at her.

“I, I know we don’t have any mementos from our past, or our-our families, so I thought I could help you have some new ones,” Wheatley said shyly, ducking his head. “I also got you a photo album, so we can keep changing the pictures in the frames. Do, you l-like it?’

Chell swiftly crossed back to tall man and gave him a big hug, which Wheatley happily returned.

"I love it, "Chell told him tenderly. "Thank you.”

“Like I said my love, I wish I could give you the whole world,” Wheatley said.

“I don’t need the whole world,” said Chell snuggling against his chest. “Just you. But let me give you your gift now.”

Chell pulled a flat package wrapped in blue from underneath the tree.

“Aw, Chell, you didn’t have to get me anything,” he said and he ripped open the paper, reveling songbooks.

“You sang so well when we went caroling, I thought it would be nice to hear you sing more often,” Chell said.

“You really want to hear me talk, well technically, sing, more?” Wheatley asked incredulous.

“I really do,” said Chell leaning in for another kiss. “Merry Christmas Wheatley.”

“Happy Christmas Chell,” he replied, as he kissed her.

Outside the snow began to fall.


	11. Baking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had to pitch hit for the Portal Secret Santa exchange. Here's what I wrote.

Chell lead a protesting Wheatley to the basement.

“Oh Love, please, this is going to end in disaster,” Wheatley whined, but made no effort to remove himself from her grasp. He never voluntarily stopped her from touching him if possible, no matter the reason.

“No, it won’t,” she replied as she continued to drag him to the basement workspace.

“Yes, it will. We’ve tried this before. Remember the franken-loaf?” He said, still embarrassed by first attempt at making bread.

“Yeah, but that was when you were made of hard-light. I think it hyper-activated the yeast, which I should have thought of. That was my fault. This time will be different, trust me,” She said, leaning up on her tip-toes to kiss his cheek. 

Wheatley was beat, and he knew it. Sighing he tied an apron around his lanky frame.

“Alright. But don’t blame me when have to throw the whole batch away,” he said, stooping slightly to tie Chell’s apron for her while she grabbed the measuring the cups.

“If that happens, I give you full permission to say ‘I told you so’ to me on air,” Chell said as she lined up the ingredients on the bench.

“Deal!” Wheatley said brightly. “Speaking of Foxglove, can I turn on the radio?”

Chell nodded as she finished laying out the last of the supplies. Wheatley turned the radio on low and stood next to her.

“Okay, first step – measuring ingredients,” Chell said, guiding Wheatley through the process of bread-making again.

Twenty minutes later and Chell was twitching her hips in time to the music pouring from the radio. She and Wheatley were covered in flour, and they weren’t as far as long as she would have been if she was baking by herself, but she was having fun. Wheatley was too once he got over his initial fear. 

“I like the lineup you made for today,” she said to Wheatley as she danced around him to store the dough to prove.

Wheatley’s smile at her compliment could have lit up all of Eaden in the middle of December. “Thanks Love!” He said delightedly as he grabbed her hands, spinning her before leading her in a fast foxtrot around the workbench. 

Chell laughed as Wheatley ended the impromptu dance in a very slight dip. He grinned and lifted her up for a smacking kiss.

“Alright my dear, we’re not done working yet, we’ve got to get ready for kneading,” she said, playfully shaking her finger at him.

“Of course, of course, I wouldn’t dream of distracting the master from her work,” Wheatley said, holding his hands up and trying to make his face be serious. 

An hour later Chell looked over at Wheatley to see how his kneading was going. He was doing a good job, but the wrinkle between his eyebrows was there – which meant he was seriously thinking about something. 

“What’s got you so lost in thought?” She asked softly, worried that he was upset.

“Oh!” Wheatley exclaimed, startled from his musings. “I was thinking that pastry chefs are called a pâtissier, but people who make bread are just called bakers. That doesn’t seem fair. People who make box mix cakes can call themselves a baker. But you’re an artist! You should have a grand title!”

Chell blinked in surprise. Never in a million years would she have guessed that was what he was thinking. It was so sweet, and dorky and completely Wheatley. Love for him filled her heart as she pulled him in for a big hug. 

“And what would my title be?” She asked, smiling affectionately at him, as she snuggled closer.

Wheatley nuzzled the top of her head as he hummed in thought. “I think Grain Maestro is fitting,” he said as he rocked them softly in time with the music and the ticking of her timer. 

Chell threw her head back and laughed. “I like it.”

The rest of the day was filled with baking, dancing and laughter from them both. 

Not only did this become their new Sunday tradition, but their loaves turned out perfect.


	12. The Journey, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a little different from the other chapters I posted. This one will have a few chapters. I might post this a separate story as well.   
> In this story, Wheatley finds his way back to Chell.

Wheatley Evans sat and rested his hands on top of his small desk far down in the bowels of Aperture’s accounting department and took a deep breath. He would be better today. He would think before he spoke. He would control his frustration. He would be better, he promised himself. 

Three hours later and he was totally submerged in his work. Wheatley liked numbers. There was a hard logic to them that he appreciated. Words could trick you, he had often used the wrong words, not knowing their correct definition and made himself look like a bigger fool than he was. Not so with numbers. Six always equaled six. Ten was ten, nothing more nothing less.

Wheatley pushed away from his desk, rubbing his eyes. He thought about taking a break, maybe amble down to the breakroom and get a cup of tea.   
Suddenly, his boss, and his director were standing his cube. 

Figures, Wheatley thought glumly, the first break he took all day and the higher ups were around to see it.

But he was not chastised as he thought he would be. Instead they had him follow them down to the Research and Development wing, talking about a promotion.

Wheatley’s heart swelled, and his chest puffed out. He was finally being noticed and appreciated! He would sign on any dotted line, so long as he got what he deserved.

He would never be able to fully remember what happened next. Just a few fuzzy images of him being physically restrained and him saying no he had changed his mind, he didn’t want this promotion, in fact he didn’t want to work at Aperture anymore and you know what? He might just go back to England too, so no thanks, just let him go now…

And the next thing he knew he had been dumped on a cold tile floor feeling like his whole body had been beaten with a cricket bat.

Dazed, he was scrambling for his glasses that had skittered across the floor when he realized there was a huge shadow looming over him.

Slipping the glasses back on his face, he looked and instantly knew he was in trouble.

“GLaDOS!” He whispered, shocked.

“Oh good, you do remember me,” she said, coming even closer. “I was worried that your extremely long stay in the cryochamber had made you into a bigger moron, because as we all know, it can cause brain damage. It took me a long time to find your body Wheatley. They hid it from me well.”

Wheatley was too petrified to react to her taunts.

“You…you were supposed to be just a rumor! I didn’t think they would actually build you!” Wheatley said, his voice rising in panic.

“What do you mean rumor?” GLaDOS said, her optic seemed to narrow, and her cold voice sent literal shivers down Wheatley’s spine. “Don’t you remember the core transfer? You attached to me like a tumor? Your next job taking care of the test subjects? Bringing her back and almost burning this place to the ground? Any of that sound familiar to you?”

“Um, no?” Wheatley said, bewildered and beginning to babble. “Why would I do any of that? I’m an accountant! They told me I was getting a promotion! None of this makes any sense, I’m telling the truth!”

GLaDOS’s yellow optic studied him, never wavering and Wheatley was sure he was going to die. Then sighing, she turned away as a large monitor screen slid from the wall.

“There must have a been a glitch in the memory transference. You didn’t receive any of your recordings from your core. Oh well, that’s why we keep video files.”

Over the next several hours GLaDOS showed Wheatley how he was transferred into a core eons ago. How he had failed at job after job he was given. How he had found that one special test subject, befriended her and then almost immediately turned on her. How he went mad with power and almost destroyed everything.

Wheatley didn’t know if he wanted to vomit, scream or weep. 

It was like watching his own evil clone. He was horrified by this alien creature who used his voice and large parts of his personality to torture this clearly innocent lady. The absolute worst part though was that he identified with some of the core's anger and outrage. He always hated being ignored and belittled. A by-product of being shuffled between foster homes when he was growing up. He had just wanted someone to love him, or at least be nice to him and prefer his company to others. 

He had been so excited to come to come to America. A fresh start, a new job in a new country. But his habit of blurting out every thought in his head had made him a laughingstock at Aperture and he fell right back into his old habits. He knew he could be selfish, prone to anger and lashing out. He knew that, and he had been working on it, god damn it. He had been. He had found a therapist who had taken his terrible insurance. But he only had a few sessions with her before he been “promoted." 

God when he remembered how proud he felt in that moment, he was sure he was going to be sick. 

“What happened to her?” he asked quietly as the video screen finally mercifully retracted back into the wall.

GLaDOS didn’t even pretend to not know what he was asking.

“I returned her to the surface. That was only a few years ago. If she has any other talent besides murdering AI’s, she should be surviving,” she said with only a hint of malice. 

If he ever made it out of here he would apologize to the lady, Wheatley promised himself. If she would let him, he would spend the rest of his life making it up for “his” terrible actions.

“The question now is what to do with you,” GLaDOS said, her faceplate now directly in front of his nose. 

Steeling himself for the inevitable, Wheatley did his best not to faint. “Whatever you want.”

“Well that goes without saying,” GLaDOS said, slightly surprised. “I expected you to be begging for your life by now.”

“That might still happen,” Wheatley said, swallowing nervously. “But I understand why you hate me, and that’s why I won’t fight any punishment you give me. I apologize for everything, even though it wasn’t really ‘me,’ I’m still sorry.”  
Shaking, Wheatley stood in GLaDOS’s shadow, waiting for her to kill him. 

But she didn’t.

She just hung there. Staring at him.

Without warning, a lift appeared in the shaft behind her.

“Just go,” she said forcefully.

“What?” Wheatley said, confused.

“I’m letting you go. Or would you rather I change my mind?” GLaDOS said menacingly. 

“No! No! This is brilliant, thank you!” Wheatley said quickly as he dashed ungracefully into the elevator.

The AI made no response and didn’t turn to look at him as he was whisked to the surface.   
\------  
As the seemingly never-ending levels of Aperture whizzed by the glass tube, Wheatley hoped he was truly headed for the surface. He hoped this wasn’t a cruel trick and the lift wouldn’t slow to a stop and then start moving back down to certain doom. Just…just like “he” did with the lady.

Oh god, he really was going to be sick this time.

Without warning, the lift suddenly did stop, and the doors flew open. A lone turret targeted him.

"I knew it was too good to be true," Wheatley whimpered as he instinctively tried to curl into a small ball. He knew all about the turrets. Why was he so bloody tall, he made for an easy target! 

But nothing happened. The tell-tale sound of firing never came.

Surprised, Wheatley opened his eyes. The turret's laser was turned off and he didn’t understand what's happening. 

"I'm different" the turret said in its sing-song voice. 

"Oh! Wheatley exclaimed. "I’m…I’m happy to hear that. Um, do I know you?”

"You were monstrous." The turret replied. 

Wheatley felt his heart drop into this stomach. "Oh, I guess in a way I was. I’d like to think that I would have never have done those any of those horrid things if I encounter them as my human self…but I can’t honestly promise that. I’m sorry ...I was monstrous, and bossy, and...and mad with power," He whispered, his head drooping in shame. 

"Her name is Chell. You should say sorry." The turret said. 

Wheatley looked up. "That was my lady's, I mean the lady's name? Chell?" Suddenly the turret's side arm opened and something golden was flying at his head. More out of defense and less from skill, Wheatley caught it. He turned it over in his hands. It was a compass. 

"Her name is Chell. You should say sorry. Go West." The turret chirped. The lift doors closed just as suddenly as they had opened. Wheatley flattened himself against them, staring at the oracle turret. 

"I promise, I'm going to apologize! I am! Thank you!" He cried. He thought he heard it say, "She misses you," but it was hard to tell over the whoosh of the lift. It had probably just been his wishful thinking.


	13. The Journey - part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wheatley makes his way to Chell

As the door of the shed slammed shut behind him, Wheatley took a moment to marvel at the colors of the sunrise. After all the stark white and black that made up the majority of Aperture, the pinks and purples of the changing sky were making him a bit teary.

Wheatley wanted to sit down and watch the golden light brighten his surroundings, but every instinct he had was screaming at him to put as much distance between the rusty shed and himself as possible.

He had never used a compass before. It had taken him a few minutes of pivoting and some mild cursing, and a half dozen steps in the wrong direction, but then he was finally confident which way was west, and started out.

He had quickly found himself in a sea of wheat. He entered it hesitantly, thinking how easy it would be for something to hide in the stalks. But seeing no other alternative, he headed in, telling himself that it would just be for a little bit and then surely there would be a road. 

However hours later, he was still wading through waist-high wheat. He had mostly gotten over his apprehension about the plants and now couldn’t stop his hand from skimming over their scratchy tops as he went along, checking the compass every other minute. He was glad that the day had quickly turned cloudy. He already had the stereotypical Englishman’s pale complexion, and he didn’t think his extended stay in cryo-sleep had helped improve that.

“C’mon mate, just a little bit further and then you can stop for the day,” he said to himself, trying to encourage his legs to keep going as he trudged up a hill. “Let’s just get out of this bloody field and then you can rest. Although I don’t have any camping equipment, or food, or water or any other of the many things I need to stay alive…” Wheatley’s steps began to falter. 

“No! No! I mustn’t get discouraged. I said I was going to find her and apologize. I don’t have the foggiest idea on how I’m going to do that, but I will! But the first step is. To. Get. Out. Of. This. Bleedin’. Wheat!” he said as he finally came to the top and let out a whoop of joy when he saw that at the bottom of the hill, the field ended right next to a barn with an old dirt road behind it.

He hurried down the hill, and almost ended up going arse over tea kettle down the slope when he tripped on a rock, but he was able to catch himself and make it safely to the bottom. He approached the barn cautiously. The structure’s timbers were sun-faded and peeling in large splinters. Some boards were missing completely. But despite the barn’s obvious age, it was still standing upright and didn’t seem in danger of collapsing.

Wheatley could feel his body sagging with exhaustion. His need to rest overrode any trepidation he had about the barn. The doors were already part way open, giving him plenty of room to slip into the shaded interior.

Blinking, Wheatley looked for a spot where he could lay down. In an old horse stall he found some hay bales pushed into a semi-circle and a few old gray blankets piled in the middle like a kind of nest.

As he curled on top of the blankets and pull one on top of him, Wheatley wondered if the lady, (Chell, if the turret was to be believed), had made this after she escaped. It made for a decent makeshift bed, and while not the most comfortable, or best smelling, it made him feel secure in this unknown space. As he adjusted the blanket over his shoulder he thanked Chell in his head for once again taking care of him. 

Now that he was resting, Wheatley’s mind was in a whirl from all he had learned. His lip started to tremble, and his breathing came in pants. Then he was sobbing, mourning the loss of his normal life, for the way Aperture had treated him and the betrayal of Chell by his robotic self. He still wasn’t sure if the core had really been him or not, but he was still consumed by stomach churning guilt.

Wheatley cried until he was utterly spent, and finally fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

\---------------------

When he awoke, it was dawn again, and while he had a headache from all his crying, he felt…better, as if he was emotionally lighter. Making his way out of the barn, Wheatley began to inspect the path that ran behind the barn.

It was old dirt road, choked by weeds almost as high as the wheat in the field. By holding his hand up to shade his eyes and squinting, Wheatley was just able to make out the shape of a farmhouse at the end of it. In his weakened state, it would probably take him another full day to reach it. Wheatley checked the compass again. The road lead West, so gathering his resolve, Wheatley set out.

As he walked, Wheatley found himself enjoying the quiet of the countryside. The sounds of the birds, the insects and the rustling of the plants in the breeze were pleasant. Wheatley had always lived in an urban environment, where cars honking and noisy people on the street were constant. Then there was Aperture. Between Mr. Johnston’s insane recorded messages, the hundreds of employees and the distant blasts from the research and development wing, moments of quiet in the office were very rare.

Wheatley always thought he would hate a quiet environment – too easy to hear the self-deprecating thoughts in his brain – but this was relaxing, almost tranquil. For half the day, he walked in silence, making up ever-increasing ridiculous names in his head for the birds and insects he heard and saw.

By midday though, Wheatley had started to get a little tired of the quiet and the lack of people. He had never enjoyed being by himself, and not seeing another soul for almost two days was starting to strain his nerves.

“I mean,” he said out loud, just to make him feel like he was less alone, “would it have been too much to ask to find a car on this road? While this is easier than sloggin’ through all that wheat, this is getting to be a bit much. I know I never got my license for driving in the states, but not like I’m in danger of hitting anyone or anything,” he said, opening his arms to gesture at the open field.

When no one magically appeared to agree with him, Wheatley sighed and continued on, cursing every now and again under his breath because it made him feel better.

\--------------------------

The sun was just starting to dip beneath the horizon when Wheatley finally staggered up the porch steps of the old farmhouse. Like the barn, the outside was sun faded and starting to fall apart, but it seemed sturdy enough for a one night stay.

Knowing he didn’t have much daylight left, Wheatley quickly tried the door handle, relaxing slightly when it turned with a rusty scraping sound and the door swung open.

“Hullo?” Wheatley called as he cautiously entered. “Does anyone live here? It certainly doesn’t look like it from the outside, not to be rude. I’m sure this house used to be lovely at some point in time.”

He waited for an answer, or some sign of life, but the house remained still and stagnate. Wheatley wasn’t sure if he would have preferred finding someone or not. He tried the light switch by the door but wasn’t surprised when it didn’t turn on. Spying the kitchen directly across from him, he hurried to the sink. He fumbled with the faucet and gave a small cry of triumph when after a few seconds water came streaming out. It was brown and rusty at first, but after a minute it ran clear and cool, and Wheatley bent to drink his fill before splashing some on his sweaty face and neck.

Feeling decidedly more human, Wheatley raided the pantry next and ate two cans of chili he found while standing over the sink. His stomach now full, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stay awake much longer, and started up the stairs to see if he could find somewhere slightly more comfortable than a horse stall to spend the night.

\---------------------

On the second floor, Wheatley found a large bedroom that was lit softly with the last of the day’s light. Even better, it had a decent sized bed, that while he was sure his feet would dangle off the edge if he laid straight out, it was more than large enough for him to curl up in. He didn’t even care that the last person who used it had left the sheets in disarray.

As he eagerly he approached the bed, a scrap of paper on the dresser caught his eye. In elegant, slated writing, the piece of paper proclaimed that “Chell was here.”

Gasping, Wheatley picked up the note with a shaking hand. She had been here! She had gotten free! And her name was actually Chell, like the turret had said.

He lightly traced her name with the pad of his finger. It was just a tiny scrap of paper, but it was something tangible of hers, it somehow made her more real to him than all the videos he watched.

He tucked the paper in the pocket of his shirt as he curled up under the covers of the bed.

Wheatley wondered if Chell had been the last person in this house, in this room. He imagined she was sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling at him, letting him know everything would be okay.

He fell asleep with his hand resting on the pocket that held her signature, hoping he would find her, and how nice it would be to see her smile for real.


	14. The Journey - part 3

The next morning found Wheatley optimistically searching for supplies. He wasn’t sure how long it would take him to find civilization or Chell (whichever came first) and he wanted to be prepared.

So far though, Wheatley hadn’t found anything that would be helpful. He did swipe a towel from the bathroom though to take with him, dimly remembering a story he had read once that had said a towel was always a useful thing to have when traveling.

Wheatley was trying to remember more about the story when he opened the last unchecked door on the main level, expecting to find another closet and was surprised to find stairs leading to a basement.

Craning his neck, he could see a cobwebbed window was letting in a little of the morning light, so he gingerly started down the steps, testing each one before putting his whole weight on it.

“Okay mate,” Wheatley whispered as he eased his way down. “Just a quick search to see if there’s anything of use, and if not, then I’ll grab some cans out of the kitchen and carry them in my towel. Hey, that book was right! A towel is useful! But man alive, I’d really like to have more than just a towel to my name when I set out.”

Having safely reached the bottom, Wheatley turned in place, searching for anything that looked useful, but not wanting to go deeper in the subterranean space if he didn’t have to. There was a big cardboard box tucked right next to the steps that appeared promising.  In fact, it looked much newer than everything else he had seen in the house, which gave Wheatley pause. Squinting he examined the box more closely, but it was just a regular cardboard box. Shrugging, Wheatley opened the flaps.

“Man alive!” Yelped Wheatley. Inside were a couple of backpacks, already stuffed with supplies, including what looked like a pop up tent.

Wheatley did a spontaneous victory dance which involved a lot of hip shimmying, and grabbed a blue pack and hefted it onto his shoulders.

Like the box, the bags looked almost brand new. Who had left them here, he wondered? Had Chell, hoping more survivors would escape Aperture?

Thinking about Chell made Wheatley remember the slip of paper in his pocket. He knew he should probably put it back where he found it. Chell had wanted it to be seen after all. But he really didn’t want to. He desperately wanted to keep this small piece of her with him, to give him hope as he searched for her.

Chewing his lip, Wheatley thought about what to do. Suddenly he bolted back up the stairs, looking for the pad of paper and pen he had found in a kitchen drawer in his earlier search.  He took back up to the bedroom and his nicest handwriting, Wheatley wrote:

“Chell was here. And so was Wheatley.”

Pleased with his work, he left it on the dresser, and walked out of the house, Chell’s note faintly crackling his shirt pocket.

\----

After checking with his compass that road still lead west, Wheatley started walking, adjusting the sunhat he had found in the house for optimal coverage.

Wheatley walked for hours, stopping only when the sun was high overhead to eat one of the cans he had taken from the kitchen pantry, before continuing his pilgrimage.

Now it was evening, and Wheatley was sore. He scanned the horizon, hoping to find some evidence that people were nearby, but found none. Too tired to even eat, Wheatley unfurled his tent, which opened with an audible pop, in some grass just to the side of the road. He laid the sleeping bag down inside and pushed the pack in before zipping himself in sleeping bag and then in the tent.

Curled up on the hard ground, the exhausted man asked out loud, “How the bloody hell did I wind up in this situation?”

_ Because you were so blindly seeking acceptance you walked into a trap _ , a mean little voice in his brain answered.  _ You wanted attention, but when you didn’t get the kind you wanted, you lashed out at those who could have helped you. Face it, mate, this is pretty much all your fault and Chell paid the price. _

Wheatley groaned, curling up in small ball, tears threatening to fall. He couldn’t deny that his conscience was right. Wheatley felt lower than dirt. God, he was an awful human being.

_ Okay yes, that happened _ , said another voice in his brain said. This one sounded kinder.  _ You behaved awfully and terrible things happened to you. But you’ve been given a rare opportunity - a second chance. You have no choice but to start over. What can you do to make yourself and your life better? How are you going to prove to Chell that you’re worth knowing? The real you? _

“I…..I will stop looking to others for validation,” Wheatley said out loud, his voice soft and trembling.

_ That’s a good start _ , said the voice. Was it his hope? His willpower?  _ What else? _

“I will remember that it’s okay to not have all the answers, to not be the smartest, but also remember that I have to try and find solutions as well and not leave it to others,” said Wheatley, his voice growing stronger and more confident.

“Oh! And! I will remember to help others not because I expect things in return, but because it’s the right thing to do! And that it’s okay to ask for help!”

Wheatley felt like cheering now. This  _ was _ a second chance. He would do better.

“I promise,” he said, touching the note in his pocket. 

\-------

Wheatley spent a solid week walking and planning on just how specifically he was going to become a better person. He wanted to be prepared when he (hopefully) found Chell. He swore this time around he wouldn’t be all talk and no action.

Sometimes he even acted out different scenarios of how their reunion would be. He was glad that no one was around to see him play both parts of his hypothetical scenes.

As the days wore on, Wheatley learned to appreciate and enjoy the nature around him. A few times he never uttered a sound for hours and just took in the beauty of the nature around him. He learned that being alone with his thoughts was not necessarily bad, or something that would should be avoided.

Every night when he crawled into his sleeping bag, his body was weary but his mind was filled with ideas on how he could improve, himself and his life. And while he knew he didn’t have the hottest track record in the idea department, he thought these ones were pretty good. They were based mostly off the stuff he had talked to the therapist about. He would have to find another one when he finally found a town. Or whatever came closest to a therapist these days.

While Wheatley was hopeful for his new life, he was starting to get worried when he hadn’t seen anyone or any trace of a town by the seventh day. His supplies were almost gone, and frankly he was tired of walking. On the eighth morning, as he pack up what little he had left, he decided he would give it one more day, and if he didn’t see a town by the end of the day he would….forage the woods for anything edible and water, he guessed. He wasn’t sure what else he could do.

“C’mon mate,” he said out loud to himself as he shouldered his pack. “One more day and then we’ll regroup and try again. You can walk for one more day.”

And he did.

And as was his new habit, he made a mental list of how he could be a better person. He knew it wouldn’t happen all at once, but he planned baby steps in the right direction. He listed things about himself to boost his self-confidence, and identified where he needed help. He was feeling much better about himself and his future.

He hummed as he walked.

Wheatley was so caught up in his self-improvement mental exercises that he hadn’t noticed the road had moved from dirt to patchy asphalt to better quality asphalt. So when he finally reached the top of another big hill, he was shocked to see a city in the not to far out distance.

_ Here we go, mate.  _ Wheatley thought to himself, as he subconsciously began to pick up speed as he approached the buildings.  _ Time to put all the self-improvement planning to the test. _

_ Begin testing… _


End file.
